Calling her name in a deep, smooth voice, a slightly Spanish accent in the undertone of his words Francesca comes in, head hung. Embarrassed to be cau...ht, he walks over. Towering over Francesca despite the large heels she stands in, he grins lifting up the straps of her dress, dropping them so the whole dress falls to the ground, slipping smoothly off her hour-glass, tanned body from being of Spanish decent too - half the reason Michael actually keeps her round, the other that she's stunningly. She was sitting at the head of a rather sparsely-populated professors' table in the Great Hall, assuming Dumbledore's place in the headmaster's absence. It was not that this task was not in any way taxing. But Dumbledore had ordered her to watch the school in his absence, and it was the waiting she found difficult. She would much rather have been in the depths of the forest than sitting at a table, listening to the chatter of Umbridge and a few others, including Trelawney, who tonight of all. She clamped down on my head with her thighs and sat straight up. I could feel more of my come running out of her pussy. I didn't think I had came that much, but, it continued to flow out of her sweet snatch. She ground her pussy down onto my face. I was trying not to suffocate, but then, what a way to go! I ran my tongue over her clit and she exploded again. I could barely hear what she was saying. I don't think I would have understood it anyway. She was moaning and crying and babbling. A light drizzle fell as he made his way down the crowded streets. Beggars and panhandlers were working the crowds; sirens blared in the distance, and cars blew their horns incessantly before he spotted the familiar sign of the bar in the near distance. The bar tender greeted him and Matt plucked down a bill for a cold beer. He surveyed the sparse crowd for any familiar faces, finding none, he ventured over to the wall and readied his favorite cue for a game of billiards. Before beginning he.